


This is not a temporary situation

by she_eats_seashells_by_the_seashore



Category: Rides With Strangers (Video Game), Welcome to the Game (Video Games)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 15:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30091053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/she_eats_seashells_by_the_seashore/pseuds/she_eats_seashells_by_the_seashore
Summary: Sometimes there are no good descions, only ones that keep you alive.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Loss

"How do you stop being scared?" Clint whispered, curling his fingers tighter around his knees. If he were to squeeze any harder his nails would cut right through the soft skin. His skin was pale, paler than his skin usually was underneath bright light. He hadn't seen the sun in weeks.

Amelea pondered the question. She thought of one answer, but thought it wasn't right. They were about to die, so to suggest that he try to breathe in and out slowly was probably not the best idea.

She scratched her head, fingers dragging across her dry scalp. Her hand came back with flakes of dead skin. "Let yourself go, I think."

"You think so?" Clint asked, cocking his head like he didn't understand the question. He looked at the walls, looking for some profound answer to the question. When he didn't he went back to digging his nails into his knees.

"Let yourself go." Amelea repeated, more to herself than Clint.

"And if I can't," Clint licked his cracked lips. He hadn't dranken anything in days except the bit of water that had leaked through the walls one night while it rained. The room must be right near some windows. Hopefully. "What should I do?"

"Beg for forgiveness."

Clint sighed. He didn't want to beg for forgiveness. He spent all this time in this cell to prove to Adam, and to people like him, that no one should suffer through this. Even if he had to die to prove that point.

"I can't." Clint mumbled, digging his fingers into the skin again. He twitched the fingers in a way that made his nails slice the skin.

Amelea shrugged. "Well, I don't know what to tell you then."

Clint reared back, falling onto the mattress with a quiet thump. He intended to rock forward after rocking back and then forward again. But of course, like everything that happened that night, even that small thing didn't go as planned.

Amelea dragged herself from the corner of the room. Her heels were now flats because the sharp bottoms were taken off, the guards too afraid to leave her with a possible weapon. She stumbled onto the bed and laid beside Clint, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. He reached his fingers towards hers. Hers were clean, but very much chipped. His were dirty. Dried blood and god knows what else was caked underneath the broken nails.

"Separate immediately." A low voice crackled through the air, like nails against a chalkboard.

They sprang apart. Amelea felt her lungs turn into ice. She shuddered out a breath. She looked over at Clint. She could see the white of his eyes more than she saw his green irises. His face had turned a sickly shade of offwhite. 

"Separate immediately," repeated the voice.

"I'm sorry," breathed Amelea softly, stroking her hand over Clint's head. Clint closed his eyes. Tears ran down his cheeks, a clean stream over the dirty skin. He looked so resigned. But being resigned to one's death, or another's, does not make the pain of the loss go away.

"Amelea Lewis, stand at the back wall." the voice ordered. "Remain still with your hands on the back of your head. Do not move."

It was starting. The livestream was most likely ready to begin, a chair clean and tidy only for it to be ruined by Amelea's entrails and bodily fluids. Plastic lining the floor ready to catch the evidence of her demise so it can be disposed of later. It made her sick, but she didn't let it show. She had to be strong for Clint.

Amelea walked over to the wall, more dragging herself over there, really. She put her hands on the back of her head and leaned her body against the wall. Maybe she could relax for the moment, have a sliver of peace, before being tortured and ultimately killed. As Amelea waited to be dragged out of the room, Clint and Amelea gazed into each other's eyes. They were in a room with no windows, only a vent for air circulation. The door was reinforced, some strong metal or steel. There was no escape. Not that the thought ever occurred to them anyway.

There was a click of the door being unlocked, then a loud bang as the door swung open, too far as it had hit the wall. Amelea felt her heart sink as a woman dressed in clad black stood behind her and Clint disappeared from her vision. Her arms were wrenched down and held tightly behind her back.

"Clint," Amelea was pulled around to face the other guard, another woman, and was dragged towards the doorway. "Clint!" Amelea repeated.

Clint didn't move. In fact, he had turned around on the mattress and appeared to be asleep. His body rose and fell slowly. But that couldn't be right, just moments ago they had been staring into each other's eyes. This wasn't right at all.

"Clin-AGH!" A fist connected with her mouth, cutting her off. She reeled back, dazed, only to be pulled forward towards the door. She tasted metal. Amelea thrashed her body from side-to-side, her wild hair whipping around wildly. 

"No no no, let me say goodbye!" She screamed, turning her body to Clint. Who was still turned on his side, pretending to be asleep.

"No!"

Amelea didn't want to die. She didn't want to let go of what she had, whether that be her life or Clint. Her friends, family, and everything precious. But Amelea was dragged into the hallway, shoes squeaking against the floor as she struggled.

"NO!" Amelea screamed. She saw Clint flinch, but instead of feeling pity, a sudden rage consumed her. She tried to lunge at him but was gripped too hard.

A gloved hand reached out and grabbed the doorknob.

When the door swung closed, Clint let the breath he was holding slip out of his lungs. He breathed in slowly, then back out. But that did nothing to stop the tears that beaded in his eyes, then streaked down his face. 

"This is all my fault." He said to himself. "I made this happen."

It was not his fault, and he did not make this happen. He was a victim of Adam and the noir. There was no changing that. But he still felt the guilt build within him. Clint shook his head. What an idiot he was. What an idiot. He wrapped his arms around himself, curling his body into a c-shape. He dug his hands into the skin again. It hurt. It hurt a lot. But nothing could hurt more than the guilt he felt. Nothing would ever tear him apart more than the thought that he got both him and Amelea killed.

He closed his eyes to try and think of anything else. 

A scream echoed in the hallway. It faded as quickly as it had rang out, but the voice that shaped that scream, the pained wail that Clint had heard, during the first livestream, was familiar.

Amelea screamed again, louder and longer. A quiet sob from Clint accompanied it.

Clint covered his ears when the second scream rose higher and higher into a shriek. His heart pounded in his chest, beating against his ribs like a fist. He could still hear her.

"Shut up." He whimpered. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

The speaker crackled to life. The screams surrounded him. The louder ones reverberated in his chest. The higher ones made him dig his fingers into his ears until he felt his skin become wet and warm.

The screams lasted until late that morning.


	2. In waiting

They had put Clint into a room similar to the one he was in earlier that morning, but this one was ten times as dirty and always seemed to be crowded by ten or fifteen people. The majority of them were ordinary people who could have been plucked from anywhere in the city, but there were a few other people he recognized, as people from work, among them. Instead of talking to them he instead sat silent against the wall, hands digging into the bandages on his knees.

The people from work were silent and looked terrified, but the others seemed to not have a care in the world. Clint assumed they were just people who had gotten involved with the wrong people, or maybe they were indebted to Adam. Or maybe they were victims who had no idea what was coming.

A particular group had taken to playing cards in the back. When two people slipped in, noir members, they yelled insults and some even spat. Clint looked down to see these members get berated and felt the air leave his lungs.

The woman had taken off her mask to wipe spit off her mask. She rubbed off the spit with her sleeve, then turned and left out the door. Clint could see her skin was a soft tan, and her hair a sweet dark gold pulled up into a bun.

"Anya?" Clint called.

"Clint?" The woman turned to him. He felt his heart scream in his chest. He can't believe she's here.

"You work for him?"

The man caught up to Anya, holding a man by the wrists. He glared at Clint and nodded his head to the door. Anya nodded in an understanding manner and the two walked out of the room. Clint reached out his hand, too late and found himself back to being surrounded by strangers.

There was a constant come-and-go of people every half hour, but the people seemed to be going out of the room faster than people had been coming in. Some of the people were so violently torn from the room that everyone eventually grew nervous and began grouping at the back of the room. The room grew silent with the exception of a few hushed whispers.

Only once did someone attempt to talk to him.

A girl about his age huddled beside him on the floor like everyone else.

"Hi." She whispered, twirling her long brown hair in her fingers. She looked younger than most in the room, probably in her early twenties.

"Hello." Clint replied while looking at the wall.

"Why are you here?"

Clint looked at the girl. She looked familiar. Maybe she was another reporter. "I was stupid. That's all you need to know."

The girl nodded. "I was stupid too, I got into the wrong car. I had no ride home and some blonde chick drove up and offered to drive me."

She sighed. "I guess you can't trust anyone at night."

Clint shrugged. He was looking at the ceiling again. Growing bored with the conversation.

"I'm Elora. What's your name?"

Clint huffed. He didn't want to talk anymore, he just wanted to stare at the ceiling and not think. To forget about tonight, and forget about Amelea.

"Can your leave me alone?" He stood and walked over to the door, plopping down onto the floor with a loud thump. The soreness in his cut knees blossomed into full blown pain.

He held his knees, rubbed them gingerly. He glared at the girl.

"Clint Edwards. Move away from the door." The speaker was right above him. He winced, covering his ears. "And uncover your ears."

Clint did what he was told. He didn't want the noir breathing down his neck. He already had his impending doom to worry about. _Right._

He had forgotten about _that._ He had been so preoccupied with forgetting what happened to Amelea that he had forgotten that the same thing would happen to him, sooner or later. He didn't dwell on it.

"Stay with the other prisoners Edwards." The voice spat, then the speaker went dead.

A few hours later, the speaker ordered him to face the wall with his hands on his head. He obliged, not because he wanted to, but only to lessen what punishment would be served to him later for finding out too much. 

To Clint's relief, he was taken back to the room. It was less dirty. The mattress was clean and had a sheet and blanket. There was also a glass of water.

Clint sprinted over to the glass and sat on his knees on the cold floor, lifting the cup up gingerly and gulping its contents down. The cold water soothed his throat and wet his lips. He took a moment to breathe. He licked his lips and smiled when he felt the cracks were not as sensitive. He resumed drinking the water. Water dripped down his chin, but he didn't care if he looked like a slob. He was so relieved to drink something.

At least, until a horrible thought sprung up. He remembered that some poisons were invisible. Some were without taste, as not to warn the intended recipient. And that what he had drunk could have very much been poisoned water.

Clint gagged in the corner for the next few minutes.

Clint crawled over to the mattress once his stomach settled. He flopped onto the soft mattress and relished the material. And the space. There was so much space for him to stretch his legs now. He slipped underneath the blanket, pulling it tightly over himself. It was thin but felt nice and cool on his skin. He wasn't really in the position to demand a new blanket either.

He snuggled up to the mattress and closed his eyes. For now, he would rest. For now, he could enjoy what goods things where left to him. Before he would be tortured and ultimately killed.


	3. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes some really heavy stuff, viewer discretion is advised. 
> 
> CW: Torture; Eye and psychological. Bodily harm. Use of profanity.

Clint was rudely awakened by a sharp pain slicing across his face. He groaned, opening his eyes in hopes of seeing who the assailant was. Only to find that he couldn't see a damn thing. He looked around in the dark. Nothing.

Clint didn't say a word. He felt his heart pounding. He didn't want to risk being hurt. Beaten.

_Killed._

A blinding white light cut through the dark, but he could not close his eyes to shield them from the burning light, as a pair of hands had reached out from the abyss and held his eyelids open.

"Hhng," Clint groaned, trying to blink away the burning and pain that had consumed his eyes. The fingers only opened his eyes up wider.

Suddenly, like a flickering star, the light shit off abruptly and bathed Clint in darkness. The only exception was the weird colors left behind by the light.

"Clint Edwards. Will you join the noir and cease your beratement of our buisness and obscene investigation into our activities?"

"Um," He looked around for the source of the voice and spoke before he clicked in what was happening in the room. "Where are you?"

The awful light returned.

He flinched, but once again he was forced to look at the light. This time it was a few seconds longer, leaving his eyes feeling like someone had lit them on fire.

They turned off again.

"Clint Edwards. Will you join the noir and cease your beratement of our buisness and obscene investigation into our activities?" the voice asked again, more stern this time.

Clint didn't like the noir. So he chose the obvious answer.

"No." That answer was incorrect. The lights flashed on again. The hands held his eyes open for minutes now. Clint thrashed about a little, but that was easily corrected by someone slapping him hard across his cheek.

Clint saw a face appear through the spots of rainbow and white, and watched in fear as they leaned in close to his face, temporarily blocking out the light. 

"Clint Edwards, I will ask you one more time, and if you answer no again you will be punished." A hand wrenched his face forward. The noir member was unrecognizable. "Will you join the noir and cease your beratement of our buisness and obscene investigation into our activities?"

Clint shook his head slightly. The light was still on. It was warming his skin. Sweat beaded on his skin and streaked down his face.

"Very well." The noir member said nonchalantly. A beep rang close to Clint's ear.

Suddenly the second unseen person pulled something across Clint's forehead. 

_Click._

He heard the person walk away, and then return. There was the sound of tape tearing and suddenly Clint's eyes were being taped open.

"No, please, don't do this!" Clint begged. He didn't actually know what was about to happen, but judging from the tape and the light shining in his face he was about to begin a long staring contest with the light or be forced to witness something horrible.

He was wrong. It was something much worse.

The lights flashed off, confusing Clint for a moment. Then they came back on. Then they flashed off again.

Slowly, Clint realized what was happening. His heart sank.

_Flash on, flash off._

Clint tried closing his eyes. His eyelids moved only a little, but did not shut. The tape held them open and he could tell there was no chance of closing them.

_Flash on, flash off._

He tried to struggle again. He swung his body from side to side, hoping that maybe he could make the chair fall over and avoid the flashing light that way. Unfortunately, a hand grabbed the chair and held it steady. The bastard probably had on special goggles that blocked out light, too.

_Flash on flash off, flash on flash off._

He tried to breathe. Maybe it was only going to last for a few minutes. He could endure a few minutes of this.

_Flash on flash off, flash on flash off._

He tried burying the pain. He let his mind wander. He focused for a moment on his apartment, and his home back in New Jersey. God how he missed New Jersey.

_Flash on flash off flash on flash off._

But his thoughts circled back to the light. Thinking about something else didn't do much. It didn't do anything.

_Flash on flash off flash on flash off._

Clint breathed in hard. His heart was racing. His skin was slick with sweat.

_Flashflashflashflashflashflashflashflash._

He didn’t care how foolish it was, whether he would be hit or worse. A scream of frustration and fear tore its way from his throat. And yet despite his pain, he didn't give in. Not yet.

There’s no point fighting against his restraints, but staying coherent seems like fight enough for him.

"Fuck you," He snarled, looking up at the figure above him. The figure chuckled, only making Clint more angry.

He looked up and yet the light still did damage. Clint heaved in breathes now, far too fast but he couldn't help it. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Don’t cry," the figure cood, wiping away the only thing soothing his aching eyes. 

It seemed to go on and on and on. Flash after flash after flash. It was enough to give someone a seizure.

Clint gritted his teeth. His vision was going dark. His eyes were burning, nerves screaming.

"Stop it," Clint muttered. 

The figure cocked it's head. It stepped away from Clint and he tried to follow it with his eyes, only to be blinded by the light.

" _Stop it!_ " He repeated. " _STOP IT_!"

He finally lost his composure, reeling his head back as far as he could, with the restraint still around his head, around his head and let out a pained wail. 

The wails gave way to screams. Clint barely noticed when the figure yelped and covered it's ears.

The flashes stopped, but Clint still screamed into the tense air. His throat was beginning to become sore. He would have screamed it raw had he not had his eyes covered suddenly.

A soft hand covered his eyes and Clint choked on the scream, letting out a pathetic little wail instead.

He couldn't tell who had covered his eyes or turned off the light. Than a familiar voice spoke quietly.

"Put that fucking flashlight away before I snap your femur." Anya snarled, and a slap echoed in the room. "I think he's had enough."

Clint let out a soft whimper, catching her attention. 

"Oh, honey. Let me just," The head restraint unlocked and Clint let his head fall forward. He was suddenly pulled out of the chair and into Anya's arms. He collapsed against her like a puppet with it's strings cut.

He was drained, mentally and physically. He heaved in air like a drowning man breaking the surface of a lake, soft whimpers escaping in between each breath.

The hand left his eyes. Clint wearily lifted them upwards, able to just make out the masking adorning Anya's face. Everything else was black, pure darkness.

Anya walked him out of the room and down a hall. A dam burst apart inside him, the terror and exhaustion finally breaking free. A cry escaped his lips, and Clint bawled like a frightened child.

Clint scared and confused and tired and all he wanted was someone to take him home and tell him everything was going to be all right.

Clint stared at the ceiling. His blanket was tucked in, hands keeping the blanket tight to his skin. His eyes were red and ached from the torture and the crying he had done during and afterwards.

Clint wondered how long he had been trapped in this building. Here, hours felt like years.

He tried some breathing exercises Amelea had shown them when he was first thrown into the room with her. He remembered hyperventilating in the corner while Amelea cursed out Adam. 

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

_Click!_

The loud click told Clint to turn over on the mattress, to ignore who was coming into the room, but his mind told him to see what came through the door. There was no point in trying to deny that he was going to be brought to _that_ room again.

He tensed as the door swung open and hit the wall. A man walked in, dressed in a suit and black shoes that Clint would have only worn at one of Amelea's parties.

Clint already knew who it was.

His eyes trailed up the pants, the suit, until they landed on the face. The man's eyes narrowed at him. His lips pulled back into a horrible smile that showed his teeth.

Clint gulped. Adam was bigger, taller, and from the way he curled and uncurled his fists, Clint knew he was itching to throw a few punches. Clint knew, however, that his captor was intelligent and knew that this did not have to be a confrontation. He hoped.

Adam walked over to the man. Clint cowered, pulled the blanket over him. 

“Good morning, Clint. How have you been sleeping?” Adam asked, sitting down next to him. The mattress dipped at the additional weight, protesting with a squeak.

Adam adjusted his tie and grinned at Clint. "I heard you can still see, which is really good news. Anya is taking you back to _the_ room later, but I wanted you to see a doctor first. Can't have you going blind.”

Another man joined them. He was tall like Adam but didn't have the muscle, and he wore his hair back. It didn't have the gross shine from hairgel like Adam's had, his brown hair just naturally shined.

The man wheeled in a cart behind him. Medical equipment jingles atop it.

Clint gritted his teeth, scooted away from the men until he was pressed firm against the wall. "What, so you're just going to keep torturing me over and over again?"

"Clint, I don't want to torture you. But you have to learn. You can't just disrupt my business and expect to get away with only a slap on the wrist." He shrugged. "And you aren't going home, so don't start bugging me about it."

Clint tried to pull the blanket over his head. He didn't have to talk to Adam. Adam grabbed the blanket and ripped it off him. Okay. So he _had_ _to_ talk to Adam.

"How long have I been here?'

"Three days." Adam looked at Clint with a knowing grin. "The days blur together here, don't they?"

Clint sighed as he nodded. His place probably needed to be cleaned, and he wondered if someone had watered his plants.

Adam pulled out his phone and stood. "I'm just going to make a quick call, Tanner."

"That's fine." Tanner replied cheerfully.

As soon as the door closed, Tanner turned his attention to Clint, kicked away the blanket. He grabbed a few things off the table.

He kneeled in front of Clint and held out a small black cylinder. A shone through a small hole on the end of it.

"Look left," Tanner requested. Clint obliged. He winced, sucking in a breath as the light shined into his eyes. His mind flicked back to the room, the light burning into his retinas.

This light, however, was much dimmer. While bright, it merely showed Tanner if damage had been done to his eyes.

 _Medical equipment isn't supposed to harm,_ he thought.

"Now right," Tanner said, moving the light over slightly.

Tanner clicked his tongue, shutting off the light and placed it back on the cart. He looked very concerned, which made Clint worry 

He held up two fingers. "Describe my fingers. Be honest, there are no wrong answers."

To be honest, they were duller. Not that the room was dark, but the details of his fingers, like fingerprints, were completely invisible to Clint. The room was dull too. It was like someone had put a thin film over his eyes.

"It's weird. I can't see any small details."

"Alright. I'll let Adam know," And Tanner smiled. "Then we'll get you pumped with some good stuff."

Ick. That sounded wrong on so many levels.

"Okay." Clint muttered, watching Tanner roll the cart out of the room, closing the door on the way out.

A few minutes later Tanner returned with a glass of water and a tray.

Clint flinched when the tray slipped from Tanner's fingers and landed, nearly falling onto the mattress, on his legs. The bandages on his knees hadn't been changed since yesterday and his legs were still sore from all the scratching he had done. 

"Sorry," Tanner muttered, stepping back quickly, as if burned by the guilt of making a small mistake.

However Clint wasn't fazed. Clint looked at the tray with glee. On the grey tray was a plate of scrambled eggs and a glass of water. He was about to grab the plastic fork when he saw something at the edge of his vision. His eyes flicked up for a moment, but that was all the time he needed to see what the object was.

A needle. 

Clint stood quickly.

The tray fell onto the mattress with a quiet thump, it's contents spread across the blanket like broken glass.

“What are you going to do with that needle?” He asked, nervously shifting his gaze from the needle to the face of the so-called doctor. 

Tanner stared back at him just as intently, and wasn’t smiling anymore.

The door swung open and Adam stepped through. He opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind. They all stood in silence.

Clint looked at Tanner, watching as the previous concern in his eyes had been replaced with the promise of violence. His free hand contorted, curling into a fist.

Any calm or pleasant feelings that had once filled the room had left.

“Clint, sit down and try to stay still.” It wasn’t a request. The man was trying to keep his voice calm, but there was nothing of the concerned doctor left in his tone.

Three things happened next: Clint swallowed and slid down to the mattress, adam ripped the tray from the bed and threw it across the room, and Tanner walked briskly over to Clint and plopped down in front of him.

Clint's arm was ripped from his side. Suddenly the needle was stabbed into his arm. His heart began pounding in his ears again.

The world swirled around him. 

"Oh god," Clint slurred, reaching out his other hand to Tanner. He missed.

"You'll feel dizzy for a few minutes, but it will pass." Tanner stated, standing up. He seemed a little sympathetic, giving Clint a passing glance of worry.

Adam walked over to Clint and looped his arms underneath his armpits. Clint cried out as he was lifted, and fingers dug painfully into his skin. The taller man heaved him his arms with a grunt. 

Clint gripped the man's back, feeling the floor drop away beneath him. He let go, realizing that he was nuzzling his face into the man's shoulder.

"Hng," Clint groaned, trying to escape Adam's hold. "Leh me guh."

"Sorry, I didn't hear you." Adam spat back.

Clint didn't like Adam's tone. So he scrambled more up his body, and before Adam could tell him to stop, Clint had his teeth digging into the fabric.

"FUCK!" He screamed. Good. 

Clint felt his body fly through the air. He was on the floor. How did he get there?

A hand clawed into his neck. Clint reached up and tried to shield it, but his wrists were rubber, and were knocked out of the way easily.

"You're so damn lucky I like you, you _son of a bitch._ " Adam snarled into Clint's ear. His breath was too warm.

The hand wrapped long fingers around his neck and squeezed. Clint tried to kick Adam off of him, but soon he saw stars, and drifted off.


End file.
